With some who left for the War it was "roses, roses, all the way". For us, the scene was the square of St. John's Wood Barracks at 2 A. M. on the 3rd of February, a stormy winter's morning, with three inches of snow on the ground, and driving gusts of melting flakes lashing our faces. In utter silence the long lines of horses and cloaked riders filed out through the dimly-lit gateway and into the empty streets, and we were off at last on this long, strange journey to distant Africa.